Member Poem

In this corridor of song,
invocations colour space
now devoid of human voice,
as spirits whisper here
of hysterical imprisonment;
of torture painted pink and blue
and baa baa black sheep have you any

                    Hail Mary full of grace

Supplications resonate
in hidden mouths
as mournings cry to sing of lullabies.
Sticks and stones and catechisms;
all the litanies, repeating, wither hope
may break our bones

                    Pray for us sinners

Keenings sound their minor chords
and keys
are jangled ceaselessly
by Pharisees in judgement
of their wards

Ring-a-roses all fall down

                    Now and at the hour of our death

Left to waste away

                    Wash out my stains

within these walls,
without.

                    Amen.